Finding the Self

I have frequently in my past felt that I have "lost myself". Hence my goal has been to *not* lose my Self, rather to hold onto my Self which I felt so often had to be subsumed and hidden...and lost.

I realize I repeat myself.

However, I've just been reading Harpers Magazine (August 2010, p. 18) and there is an author speaking about Kafka. He's saying how once Kafka became ill, nothing would come between him and his writing....that Kafka "understood that travel, sex, and books are paths that lead nowhere except to the loss of the self, and yet they must be followed and the self must be lost, in order to find it again, or to find something, whatever it may be--a book, an expression, a misplaced object--in order to find anything at all, a method, perhaps, and, with a bit of luck, the new, which has been there all along."

This concept that there is value in losing yourself, that perhaps the goal is not to hold to your Self at all costs....is a new idea to me.

Perhaps this is a difference in concept between inner and outer self, as well as self and Self. And if we call Self the essence of a person, well that doesn't generally change.

White girl, black neighborhood

My neighbor, who has been waving at me for a year, came to the door, rang the doorbell, and asked for $20. He was going to mow the lawn (which is less than 12x12) for it...and he had some story about his granddaughter turning 13... and he just wants to get her a present.

Frankly, I think he gets more per month than I do, as I am a student and currently have no income (working on that one).

For (*&#$ sake! I thought he was being friendly to be friendly. But no. I'm white, so he comes to my door--the house I'm renting, to ask for something. Perhaps I should hand him the book I'm reading about the myth of black inferiority, which also talks about the habit of asking white people for handouts. My next door neighbor just sat quietly. He wasn't asking her for anything, I can tell you. She'd probably yell at him, but not me. Nah, I'm too nice.

I think the worst part *is* I was nice to him, and at he moment I'm feeling much more like, "The Nerve!" Instead of that, me with the white person crap-eating grin.

Perhaps it was something accepted by the owners of this house. I don't know. And now he tells me he doesn't even live in the neighborhood anymore. So why is he here all the time?

Fine, just leave me the heck alone.

(I'm working on not swearing, but I think it is less effective.)